The Daffodil Mystery Page 32

  CHAPTER XXXII

  THE DIARY OF THORNTON LYNE

  Tarling should have been sleeping. Every bone and sinew in him ached forrest. His head was sunk over a table in his flat. Lyne's diaries stood intwo piles on the table, the bigger pile that which he had read, thelesser being those which Tarling had yet to examine.

  The diaries had been blank books containing no printed date lines. Insome cases one book would cover a period of two or three years, in othercases three or four books would be taken up by the record of a fewmonths. The pile on the left grew, and the pile on the right becamesmaller, until there was only one book--a diary newer than the otherswhich had been fastened by two brass locks, but had been opened by theScotland Yard experts.

  Tarling took up this volume and turned the leaves. As he had expected, itwas the current diary--that on which Thornton Lyne had been engaged atthe time of his murder. Tarling opened the book in a spirit ofdisappointment. The earlier books had yielded nothing save a revelationof the writer's egotism. He had read Lyne's account of the happenings inShanghai, but after all that was nothing fresh, and added little to thesum of the detective's knowledge.

  He did not anticipate that the last volume would yield any more promisingreturn for his study. Nevertheless, he read it carefully, and presentlydrawing a writing pad toward him, he began to note down excerpts from thediary. There was the story, told in temperate language and withsurprising mildness, of Odette Rider's rejection of Thornton Lyne'sadvances. It was a curiously uninteresting record, until he came to adate following the release of Sam Stay from gaol, and here Thornton Lyneenlarged upon the subject of his "humiliation."

  "Stay is out of prison," the entry ran. "It is pathetic to see how this man adores me. I almost wish sometimes that I could keep him out of gaol; but if I did so, and converted him into a dull, respectable person, I should miss these delicious experiences which his worship affords. It is good to bask in the bright sunlight of his adoration! I talked to him of Odette. A strange matter to discuss with a lout, but he was so wonderful a listener! I exaggerated, the temptation was great. How he loathed her by the time I was through ... he actually put forward a plan to 'spoil her looks,' as he put it. He had been working in the same prison gang as a man who was undergoing a term of penal servitude for 'doing in' his girl that way ... vitriol was used, and Sam suggested that he should do the work.... I was horrified, but it gave me an idea. He says he can give me a key that will open any door. Suppose I went ... in the dark? And I could leave a clue behind. What clue? Here is a thought. Suppose I left something unmistakably Chinese? Tarling had evidently been friendly with the girl ... something Chinese might place him under suspicion...."

  The diary ended with the word "suspicion," an appropriate ending. Tarlingread the passages again and again until he almost had them by heart. Thenhe closed the book and locked it away in his drawer.

  He sat with his chin on his hand for half an hour. He was piecingtogether the puzzle which Thornton Lyne had made so much more simple.The mystery was clearing up. Thornton Lyne had gone to that flat not inresponse to the telegram, but with the object of compromising andpossibly ruining the girl. He had gone with the little slip of paperinscribed with Chinese characters, intending to leave the Hong in aconspicuous place, that somebody else might be blamed for his infamy.

  Milburgh had been in the flat for another purpose. The two men had met;there had been a quarrel; and Milburgh had fired the fatal shot. Thatpart of the story solved the mystery of Thornton Lyne's list slippers andhis Chinese characters; his very presence there was cleared up. Hethought of Sam Stay's offer.

  It came in a flash to Tarling that the man who had thrown the bottle ofvitriol at him, who had said he had kept it for years--was Sam Stay.Stay, with his scheme for blasting the woman who, he believed, hadhumiliated his beloved patron.

  And now for Milburgh, the last link in the chain.

  Tarling had arranged for the superintendent in charge of the Cannon RowPolice Station to notify him if any news came through. The inspector'smessage did not arrive, and Tarling went down through Whitehall to hearthe latest intelligence at first hand. That was to be precious little. Ashe was talking there arrived on the scene an agitated driver, theproprietor of a taxicab which had been lost. An ordinary case such ascome the way of the London police almost every day. The cabman had takena man and a woman to one of the West End theatres, and had been engagedto wait during the evening and pick them up when the performancewas through. After setting down his fares, he had gone to a smalleating-house for a bit of supper. When he came out the cab haddisappeared.

  "I know who done it," he said vehemently, "and if I had him here,I'd...."

  "How do you know?"

  "He looked in at the coffee-shop while I was eating my bit of food."

  "What did he look like?" asked the station inspector.

  "He was a man with a white face," said the victim, "I could pick him outof a thousand. And what's more, he had a brand-new pair of boots on."

  Tarling had strolled away from the officer's desk whilst thisconversation was in progress, but now he returned.

  "Did he speak at all?" he asked.

  "Yes, sir," said the cabman. "I happened to ask him if he was looking foranybody, and he said no, and then went on to talk a lot of rubbish abouta man who had been the best friend any poor chap could have had. My seathappened to be nearest the door, that's how I got into conversation withhim. I thought he was off his nut."

  "Yes, yes, go on," said Tarling impatiently. "What happened then?"

  "Well, he went out," said the cabman, "and presently I heard a cab beingcranked up. I thought it was one of the other drivers--there were severalcabs outside. The eating-house is a place which cabmen use, and I didn'ttake very much notice until I came out and found my cab gone and the olddevil I'd left in charge in a public-house drinking beer with the moneythis fellow had given him."

  "Sounds like your man, sir," said the inspector, looking at Tarling.

  "That's Sam Stay all right," he said, "but it's news to me that he coulddrive a taxi."

  The inspector nodded.

  "Oh, I know Sam Stay all right, sir. We've had him in here two or threetimes. He used to be a taxi-driver--didn't you know that?"

  Tarling did not know that. He had intended looking up Sam's record thatday, but something had occurred to put the matter out of his mind.

  "Well, he can't go far," he said. "You'll circulate the description ofthe cab, I suppose? He may be easier to find. He can't hide the cab aswell as he can hide himself, and if he imagines that the possession of acar is going to help him to escape he's making a mistake."

  Tarling was going back to Hertford that night, and had informed Ling Chuof his intention. He left Cannon Row Police Station, walked across theroad to Scotland Yard, to confer with Whiteside, who had promised to meethim. He was pursuing independent inquiries and collecting details ofevidence regarding the Hertford crime.

  Whiteside was not in when Tarling called, and the sergeant on duty in thelittle office by the main door hurried forward.

  "This came for you two hours ago, sir," he said "We thought you were inHertford."

  "This" was a letter addressed in pencil, and Mr. Milburgh had made noattempt to disguise his handwriting. Tarling tore open the envelope andread the contents:

  "Dear Mr. Tarling," it began. "I have just read in the _Evening Press_, with the deepest sorrow and despair, the news that my dearly Beloved wife, Catherine Rider, has been foully murdered. How terrible to think that a few hours ago I was conversing with her assassin, as I believe Sam Stay to be, and had inadvertently given him information as to where Miss Rider was to be found! I beg of you that you will lose no time in saving her from the hands of this cruel madman, who seems to have only one idea, and that to avenge the death of the late Mr. Thornton Lyne. When this reaches you I shall be beyond the power of human vengeance, fo
r I have determined to end a life which has held so much sorrow and disappointment.--M."

  He was satisfied that Mr. Milburgh would not commit suicide, and theinformation was superfluous that Sam Stay had murdered Mrs. Rider. Itwas the knowledge that this vengeful lunatic knew where Odette Rider wasstaying which made Tarling sweat.

  "Where is Mr. Whiteside?" he asked.

  "He has gone to Cambours Restaurant to meet somebody, sir," said thesergeant.

  The somebody was one of Milburgh's satellites at Lyne's Store. Tarlingmust see him without delay. The inspector had control of all the officialarrangements connected with the case, and it would be necessary toconsult him before he could place detectives to watch the nursing homein Cavendish Place.

  He found a cab and drove to Cambours, which was in Soho, and wasfortunate enough to discover Whiteside in the act of leaving.

  "I didn't get much from that fellow," Whiteside began, when Tarlinghanded him the letter.

  The Scotland Yard man read it through without comment and handed it back.

  "Of course he hasn't committed suicide. It's the last thing in theworld that men of the Milburgh type ever think about seriously. He is acold-blooded villain. Imagine him sitting down to write calmly about hiswife's murderer!"

  "What do you think of the other matter--the threat against Odette?"

  Whiteside nodded.

  "There may be something in it," he said. "Certainly we cannot take risks.Has anything been heard of Stay?"

  Tarling told the story of the stolen taxicab.

  "We'll have him," said Whiteside confidently. "He'll have no pals, andwithout pals in the motor business it is practically impossible to get acar away."

  He got into Tarling's cab, and a few minutes later they were at thenursing home.

  The matron came to them, a sedate, motherly lady.

  "I'm sorry to disturb you at this hour of the night," said Tarling,sensing her disapproval. "But information has come to me this eveningwhich renders it necessary that Miss Rider should be guarded."

  "Guarded?" said the matron in surprise. "I don't quite understand you,Mr. Tarling. I had come down to give you rather a blowing up about MissRider. You know she is absolutely unfit to go out. I thought I made thatclear to you when you were here this morning?"

  "Go out?" said the puzzled Tarling. "What do you mean? She is not goingout."

  It was the matron's turn to be surprised.

  "But you sent for her half an hour ago," she said.

  "I sent for her?" said Tarling, turning pale. "Tell me, please, what hashappened?"

  "About half an hour ago, or it may be a little longer," said the matron,"a cabman came to the door and told me that he had been sent by theauthorities to fetch Miss Rider at once--she was wanted in connectionwith her mother's murder."

  Something in Tarling's face betrayed his emotion.

  "Did you not send for her?" she asked in alarm.

  Tarling shook his head.

  "What was the man like who called?" he asked:

  "A very ordinary-looking man, rather under-sized and ill-looking--it wasthe taxi-driver."

  "You have no idea which way they went?"

  "No," replied the matron. "I very much objected to Miss Rider going atall, but when I gave her the message, which apparently had come fromyou, she insisted upon going."

  Tarling groaned. Odette Rider was in the power of a maniac who hated her,who had killed her mother and had cherished a plan for disfiguring thebeauty of the girl whom he believed had betrayed his beloved master.

  Without any further words he turned and left the waiting-room, followedby Whiteside.

  "It's hopeless," he said, when they were outside, "hopeless, hopeless! MyGod! How terrible! I dare not think of it. If Milburgh is alive he shallsuffer."

  He gave directions to the cab-driver and followed Whiteside into the cab.

  "I'm going back to my flat to pick up Ling Chu," he said. "I can't affordto lose any help he may be able to give us."

  Whiteside was pardonably piqued.

  "I don't know if your Ling Chu will be able to do very much in the way oftrailing a taxicab through London." And then, recognising something ofthe other's distress, he said more gently, "Though I agree with you thatevery help we can get we shall need."

  On their arrival at the Bond Street flat, Tarling opened the door andwent upstairs, followed by the other. The flat was in darkness--anextraordinary circumstance, for it was an understood thing that Ling Chushould not leave the house whilst his master was out. And Ling Chu hadundoubtedly left. The dining-room was empty. The first thing Tarling saw,when he turned on the light, was a strip of rice paper on which the inkwas scarcely dry. Just half a dozen Chinese characters and no more.

  "If you return before I, learn that I go to find the little-littlewoman," read Tarling in astonishment.

  "Then he knows she's gone! Thank God for that!" he said. "I wonder----"

  He stopped. He thought he had heard a low moan, and catching the eye ofWhiteside, he saw that the Scotland Yard man had detected the same sound.

  "Sounds like somebody groaning," he said. "Listen!"

  He bent his head and waited, and presently it came again.

  In two strides Tarling was at the door of Ling Chu's sleeping place, butit was locked. He stooped to the key-hole and listened, and again heardthe moan. With a thrust of his shoulder he had broken the door open anddashed in.

  The sight that met his eyes was a remarkable one. There was a man lyingon the bed, stripped to the waist. His hands and his legs were bound anda white cloth covered his face. But what Tarling saw before all else wasthat across the centre of the broad chest were four little red lines,which Tarling recognised. They were "persuaders," by which native Chinesepolicemen secretly extract confessions from unwilling criminals--lightcuts with a sharp knife on the surface of the skin, and after----

  He looked around for the "torture bottle," but it was not in sight.

  "Who is this?" he asked, and lifted the cloth from the man's face.

  It was Milburgh.